Tag Archives: poetry

PLAN

PLAN

I storm:
hit the alarm!

much turbulence
no free gliding, plain sailing

listen
     to the wind becoming
more sharply focused

everything rocking soon:
one humongous concert

hell’s angels
          making sure
everything
        strictly ordered:  the madness
     the chaos

all going to plan

NEW YEAR

NEW YEAR

that tree
in the garden
was full of bees

feared their stings
more than anything

house full of honey
got so stuck
in honey throughout my life

for some reason
am not good as viscous, do not
do viscous

hope one day though
that will change
though,
to be frank
running out of days
.
last night I returned from
a place of much that is unconditional

snatched at the curtain
as night fell
caught a shooting star

seemed like a moment of
divine needle work

last stitch to connect, maybe
whole new thread

so close
to new year

AND THEN

AND THEN

and then
there waa
no choice
no option

fate had decided
desire complied

we fell into it
this thing pleasure
embraced it
until we
got saturated

knew yout
until i could know you
no more deeply

but here
     there is always more
aleays more deeply

oceans of detail
     to touch, taste, feel

savour until the Sun
ghe Moon, the day; the dawn,
time itself dissolve

everything but you
just disappears

and then

THERE BE

THERE BE

there be satirists in the land

rare, ’tis true,
but nore plentiful than dragons

and Oh so easy
to avoid them!

not an issue
to learn to steer clear
of their usual habitats

can dodge
       them readily

neither lithe, nor elusive, like
Australian brown or
African black mamba

and nowhere near
as outright venomous

step over them freely
my brothers, my sisters

though they
        hiss and may strike

nothing to fear here at all

CHUTE

CHUTE

if we were
aligned skew
       during manufacture

and so conjure up
a monstrously concocted version
of original divine image

what hope is there
for us to unentangle

the moment of beauty
is exalted
     but passing

no sooner gone than
    plunged headlong again

into
theme of survival

Ah, the cycle:

flameout,
         parachute

rip cord
    again failing

nothing to steer you clear
you clear  of those onrushing rocks

about
  to hit you at terminal velocity

all I can do
       for you: this
         song of regret

SAME

SAME

found myself Christmasing
in the House of Led Zeppelin

my younger brother
having usurped my rock influences
and extended them beyond
my wildest imaginings

every page in the library here
resounds to Jimmy Page
guitar pyrotechnics

remember this solo, this lick,
this riff?
am cluster bombarded
with questions where I could not
be further from answering

seems like
from Tangiers to Birmingham
to Kashmir

the song is forever changing
only in the most abstract sense
ever
remains the same

WHAT MAKES

WHAT MAKES

what makes
a poem
Shakespearean?

I was asked
the je ne sais quoi
signature
    of the bard
                   indeed

hard to replicate
if you are
           thing digital
disembodied
intelligence
binary being

some residue still
mechanical I warrant

no matter how polished
(like reflective
  sculpted metal)

the lark-like artifice
with
   which you sing

what
   makes a poem
human

hold

     that thought

set play

    to pause

stuff in my answer
I still need to dream